Miss Anything
by theworldiswatching
Summary: She can be anything. She can do anything. She can take you where you want to go. Make you the man you want to be. Show you what life is capable of. What you have been missing out on. It's simple, really. Send an email. Receive a time and place. Be there. And Isabella will do the rest.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Stephanie Meyer owns the characters of this story. I doubt I'll mention it again.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

She can be anything.

Your dirty secret. Your doting girlfriend. Her mother. Her daughter. Your whore.

She can do anything.

Suck you. Ride you. Beg. Cry. Fight you. Love you.

She can take you where you want to go. Make you the man you want to be. Show you what life is capable of. What you have been missing out on.

It's simple, really.

Send an email.

Receive a time and place.

Be there.

And Isabella will do the rest.

* * *

He looked nervous. Not the teenage-boy-having-a-girl-see-his-dick-for-the-first-time kind of nervous. But like he had an itch and felt rude to scratch it. Like scratching it would make him dirty. Uncouth.

From when she first opened the door.

Standing there, hands in his jean pockets.

Strange.

Usually the young ones stare at their phones. Pretend that seeing her for the first time, or perhaps not, isn't what is consuming their thoughts. Overwhelming their minds.

But he looked at her dead on. Even for only a second. Before looking at his shoes.

Yup.

He followed her inside.

Her place was spacious. A door to the left, a door head on. A kitchen, living area, and a third door, open this time. A bedroom.

Surfaces were clean. Not a picture frame. Not a candle. Just salt and pepper shakers on the small table in the corner of the living room. The kitchen sink shined. The cupboard doors were closed. No dishes to be seen.

She liked things neat and tidy.

No messes.

MA~TWIW~MA

She sat down on the soft, brown futon sofa. One throw pillow on either side.

He took the chair.

Leather. A recliner.

Placing her hands, neatly folded, in her lap, Isabella began.

"I assume you are looking for something specific. Something your girlfriend won't do perhaps…"

Get right to the point. No need to chitchat. What would it achieve? Isabella was not into wasting time.

His nervousness grew.

"No… umm, I don't have a girl, a girlfriend. I mean. Well, there is this girl. In English. She's well, beautiful. But I.."

He was rambling, wringing his hands, looking anywhere but at her.

And he didn't need to say another word.

Isabella tapped a finger against her bottom lip. Once. twice. She slowly uncurled, like a cat stretching from an afternoon slumber. Slinking her way over to the brown recliner, she leaned on her hands.

And arched her fingers along the tops of his thighs.

Bending in close, Isabella smelled just a hint of Axe deodorant.

Such a teenager thing.

But it didn't deter her.

Almost touching the rim of his ear with her lips, she breathed out.

"I can…show you."

He shuddered, the breath shaky and loud.

Ever so slowly, Isabella trailed her lips across his cheekbone.

He closed his eyes.

To the corner of his lips.

They twitched.

And pressed them gently on her target.

His were frozen. Hers, slowly moving. Teaching.

Sucking in his bottom lip, she inwardly smiled as he began to respond. Opening up just enough.

She switched to his top lip.

She moved her tongue.

Tasting, licking. His teeth.

And tongues met once he opened.

They danced. Anxious fingers started to move. He had one hand on her back. Both of hers were in his hair. That is until she took his other hand, still grasping, anchoring to the chair, and placed it on her breast.

His groan was loud, and she let him break away to look down at where he was touching. Where he had never touched before. She moved down to his neck, the clean, smooth skin something that was a bit of a luxury for her, she would admit.

His hesitant fingers tested her patience, so she sucked, licked, and tickled with just a bit more effort. That soft, baby skin of his neck.

His hand held on firmly. Kneading. Needing more.

Isabella didn't even think he realized he had pushed the neck of her tank top down, under the cup of her bra, and had already dipped his fingers in, touching her creamy, soft flesh.

Isabella pulled back.

MA~TWIW~MA

Taking both his hands, she slipped off the chair, off his lap. Tugging gently, he took the hint and stood up. His hands twitched, feeling the need to cover his erection no doubt.

Silly, Isabella thought.

Linking fingers, he followed her through the open doorway. The walls were bare, beige, with not a thing on them. But the bed, it overwhelmed the room. It was soft blue and creamy gold.

It didn't have a single pillow.

Isabella sat down and pulled so that he stood between her parted legs.

Her tank top was still pulled down, revealing the right cup of her bra.

It was all he could look at.

She kissed him once again, allowing herself to fall back on the little piece of heaven. And he followed.

Pushing on one of his shoulder, she swapped positions.

"Now, baby, I want to make you feel good. Really good. Would you let me do that, please?" Isabella slowly slid down his chest, and hips, and thighs, as she teased him with her words. Spoken with hardly a sound.

He whimpered. His eyes, dark as pitch, following her every action.

Sliding his belt through the loops, undoing it, and pushing it wide open, she immediately went for the sole button on his jeans. Then the zipper.

He groaned with relief as she pulled out his erection. Just that one touch made him twitch.

"I promise, baby, that you will like this. I know…" she dipped her head, breathing warm breath along his length, "that you're in pain. I will make it all better, okay?"

He whimpered again.

Isabella placed one hand on his cock, pushing it back so it rested on his stomach. She slowly licked just below before gently taking one ball into her mouth. She sucked and licked, switching from left to right. And from right to left. Meanwhile, her hands massaged his thighs, moving closer until she was rubbing light circles on his inner thighs, encouraging him to open just a bit wider for her.

Her hand replaced her mouth. She looked up to his face. She didn't want to go too hard on him. Make him lose control too early. For a guy who is just looking for some inconsequential experience, that would be the wrong thing to do.

But he looked alright for now.

Well, as alright as a guy receiving his first blow job could look.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she took the tip into her mouth, using her tongue to play along the slit.

And then she moved. Gliding her lips down, down, until he bumped the back of her throat. Again and again. Faster and faster. Until.

She felt his hands, hesitant as ever, come to rest in her hair. She moaned around him, and his fingers tightened.

"Go ahead," Isabella panted, popping off, her big, doe eyes looking up at his mere slits. "Control me. I'm here to serve you. To do what you want. What you need."

His moan was different, more desperate, and sure enough, he led her down his cock, guiding her back up, slowly. She licked and sucked, paying close attention to the head when she could.

It didn't take long before his breathing became harsh, his legs trembling underneath her. She pushed down even harder, gagging as he slipped down her throat.

He came.

"_Fuck!_"

She swallowed.

Ten minutes later, they said goodbye. He had agreed that what they had done tonight was all he was prepared to do just yet.

She told him next time would be about exploring _her_ body.

They kissed.

"See you next time, Jasper."

He left.

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella's phone rang later that night.

"_Is the boy done_?"

"Yes, Dr. Cullen."

"_Your cheque will arrive tomorrow_."

"Thank-y—"

_Click_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

As soon as Isabella opened her door, a thick arm was pressed against her throat.

"You kept me waiting, Little Girl."

She whimpered, looking up into the steel blue eyes. The tiny smirk. The cocked eyebrow.

Pushing her backwards so that her head hit the wall of her foyer, he leaned towards her, his harsh breath the only thing she could hear.

"I don't like to wait." His calloused hand pushed her clothing down and squeezed her breast. "Especially..." He thrust his tongue between her parted lips, forcing his way into her mouth, "because of whores like you!"

He pulled away from her suddenly, removing every point of contact.

Isabella dropped to the floor. Her pink nightgown had already fallen to her stomach, revealing uncovered breasts underneath. Her hair was tangled from his unrelenting fingers, and she knew her lips were already beginning to swell.

He smiled down at her, loving, she knew, how pitiful she looked. His brown, buzz-cut hair didn't mask the scar that ran down from one temple and across his right eye.

It didn't mask the anger; the uncontrollable emotions, either.

Crouching down so that they were eye-level, he spoke.

"I want to see you in your bed, Little Girl." He caressed the side of her face, gently, slipping his hand lower so that it rested on her soft neck.

He squeezed, fingernails biting into her skin, slightly.

"And I don't want to hear a word out of that whore-mouth the entire night. Got it?"

He didn't wait for a response, but pushed her shoulders down so that she fell onto her hands.

She crawled all the way to the bedroom.

MA~TWIW~MA

Closing her eyes, Isabella tried to calm her breathing; steady her racing heart. She had been seeing this man for quite a while.

She was his best coping mechanism.

Isabella waited. She tried to hear even the smallest sound, but the only thing her ears registered was the buzz of the refrigerator. She could feel her silky duvet underneath her, but this bed afforded her little comfort.

Suddenly, a dry hand covered her mouth. Isabella whimpered, attempting to move away from the obstruction. She was flat on her stomach, and with the hand came a huge weight, pushing her down, down into the mattress. She could feel her legs being kicked apart, her arms, one at a time, twisted and pulled together behind her back. She squealed even louder when the cold metal of a handcuff wound around both of her wrists, the telltale click sealing her fate.

Delicate tears slid down her cheeks.

He gathered her hair, almost lovingly, off of her neck. Waiting for her to calm. To readjust.

But it was only a few seconds before he pulled, lifting her head off of the sheet.

Isabella wriggled, she shook her head, but one of his hands, still covering her mouth, helped to turn her head.

"Oh, my Little Girl, what fun we are going to have. You want to have fun, don't you?"

She met his ice blue eyes with her brown, leaking ones.

His hand moved up to cover her nose as well.

And Isabella fought. Only when black spots appeared in her vision did he relent. In this time, he had managed to get her on her back, straddling her chest, his dick already out.

"Open wide."

She did and he thrust inside, slipping down her throat on his first pass.

She gagged and coughed, but he was relentless. With her two hands behind her back, and his two hands forcing her head up and down, Isabella could do nothing.

Saliva dripped down her chin, collecting on the planes of her chest. She knew, had she have worn makeup, that it too would have been everywhere. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, but the panic of choking, of having the weight of a man practically smothering her, made this difficult. With one leg on either side of head, he fucked her mouth as hard as he could.

"You." _Grunt_. "Are. Nothing." _Grunt_. "But a fucking. Whore!"

Then.

"Yes." _Thrust._ "Keep going. Don't you dare pull away!" _Thrust._

And.

"I'm so going to fuck you raw, Little Girl."

Isabella's smothered whimpers were relatively quiet, but when he finally did pull away, she was outright sobbing.

Flipping her back onto her stomach, he planted a single kiss onto her wet cheek.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Her face pushed down into the mattress, she heard the tear of a wrapper before she felt him thrust inside her, her walls clenching at the sudden intrusion. His hand came down on her hair once more, turning her head to the side.

She knew what he wanted, now.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please get off! You're hurting me!" Her sobs were in earnest, but he continued to push in and out, gaining rhythm, gaining speed. "It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Please!"

A sharp slap across her ass.

"I thought I told you not to talk, bitch."

He grinded into Isabella, pusher deeper and deeper. One hand in her hair kept her from moving forward, from hitting the wall. His other was planted firmly on the mattress.

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella had nowhere to go, and could only move if he did. But she knew.

He needed this.

He needed her.

He needed to feel complete and utter control over something. He needed to know that, despite what he went through from nine to five, he still had it. He could still make a difference; cause something to happen simply because it was what he wanted.

Mr. McCarty was a cop, and usually came after a particularly stressful week.

He had spent hours telling Isabella about the job.

About the bureaucratic bullshit that led to rapists receiving a fine, drunk drivers a slap on the wrist. The policies and attitudes that covered up and protected the abuser, not the battered wife. The poverty, decay, and death he passed over each and every day with little ability to do anything.

But to Isabella, Mr. McCarty could do whatever he wanted.

And that is why he needed her.

MA~TWIW~MA

He finished, coming into the condom while still surrounded by _her_, by her warmth and tightness. He let out a great sigh, falling heavily onto Isabella who was still pinned underneath him.

Moving so that he was to her side, but with one leg still hitched over her ass, he repositioned his face closer to hers. After unlocking the handcuffs, he stroked her hair gently with one hand while the other began to wipe the tears from her face.

"My Little Girl," he murmured sweetly. "What would I do without you?"

Sweet kisses planted on her lips. Her chin. Her forehead.

Isabella closed her eyes.

This act of affection, of near _devotion_, was something that caused her more pain than anything else he had subjected her to this evening.

But of course, she knew what he needed.

And she gave.

With her hands finally unlocked, Isabella wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders, feeling the still-slick skin. He squirmed down her body, and laid his head upon her chest.

They slept.

MA~TWIW~MA

The next day, Isabella dialed the familiar number, her fingers remembering the pattern it created on the phone even more than the numbers themselves.

A monotone voice answered and questioned.

"This is Bella Swan."

"_Hold Please_."

She picked at her fingernails, biting off a hangnail. Inspecting the cracked and broken nail polish.

"_Ms. Swan?_"

"Yes?" Her chest stuttered.

"_I'm sorry Ms. Swan, but today isn't a good day_."

"Well," Desperate. Pleading. "Could you just tell him? Tell him that I love him?" She blinked away the tears.

A sigh. Quiet and somehow understanding.

"_I will, Ms. Swan_."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Merry Christmas. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Isabella leaned over the sink, her pink tongue peeking out as she concentrated on using the iron to turn her brown waves into delicate curls. Because her hair reached down almost to the curve of her ass, using any sort of contraption on it took ages.

And a lot of patience.

Sure that each lock of hair was in place, she set the iron down on the counter before carefully pinning back the front pieces.

Isabella then focused on her face.

She began with foundation. Just a light stroke. Many told her that it was unnecessary in the first place. Perfect, clear skin. They said.

A light layer of blush over her high cheekbones. She didn't think anybody could deny her paleness.

She carefully lined her lids with black, just a thin streak. Her brown eyes, already so large on her face, suddenly became even more pronounced.

With a touch of mascara to her lashes and gloss to her lips, she assessed her entire face once more.

And she could see why they desired her.

She was still plain, after all. Something that they could turn into whatever fantasy woman, or perhaps real woman, that they wanted. They didn't have to acknowledge the girl who she was, or maybe had been. No. They could make her into whatever they wanted.

That was her role, certainly.

Isabella pulled on the flimsy, black, lace panties first and then the matching bra. After buttoning up her pearl blouse, she slid her charcoal grey skirt up, over her hips and ass, so the edge settled just over her belly button, blouse tucked in. She carefully zipped up the side, sucking in her gut in the process.

Exiting the bathroom, Isabella took a quick glance at the clock on the microwave before hurrying to the foyer and slipping into her black, peep-toe heels.

Grabbing her small purse, she swung out of her apartment, down the short hallway and out the main door. Coming out into the warm, Seattle sun, Isabella was thankful that her parking spot was so close.

She had no desire to perspire, ruining her carefully painted face and expensive clothing.

Beeping the doors to her BMW open, she slid onto the leather seat, immediately turning the air-con on to cool her overheated skin.

Even after two years, driving such a car was not something Isabella could get used to.

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella pulled out into the midday traffic, reminding her worried self that she knew exactly where she was going.

The transition from small town to big city was awkward, to say the least. Driving in Seattle, with its multilane freeways, roundabouts, and highways, was something she still hadn't achieved ease with.

Fortunately after only a short drive towards the heart of Seattle, Isabella maneuvered into a metered spot, emptied her purse into it, and quickly entered the restaurant just a few yards down.

The hostess, in her skimpy black dress, fried hair, and dark, thick makeup, smiled blandly before asking her party.

"Mr. Black. Table of Two." A voice behind her answered.

Isabella could already feel the heat coming off of the man who stood much closer to her than polite society would accept. He placed a hand on her hip.

"Mr. Black!" Isabella admonished him, quietly.

"Shh, shh." He replied, grinning when she turned to face him.

With his salt and pepper hair, weathered coffee skin, and balding scalp, Mr. Black appeared to have seen better days. But the tailored, expensive suit he wore with ease and the straight, confident stand he adopted begged to differ.

Playfully holding out an arm, he waited patiently for her to take it.

She cautiously did.

They were led by the bored hostess to an intimate table, encased by three walls, near the back of the restaurant.

After sitting down, Isabella widened her eyes when he moved to sit next to her, not across from.

But she knew his game, after all.

He remained perfectly polite as the pair perused their menus, Isabella settling on mild penne pasta.

It was simple to eat and wouldn't leave her with bad breath.

Or a harsh-tasting mouth either.

Once their server had taken their orders, Mr. Black ordering sirloin steak, Isabella tuned out his actions, if only for a moment, and looked around.

She had never been to this particular restaurant before.

But of course, she made a point of never coming to the same restaurant twice. It would be _unpleasant_ to be seen in one place with so many men. Certainly the men would not be very happy to receive questioning glances from staff.

The whole arrangement was supposed to be kept secret, undoubtedly.

The walls of the restaurant were painted a deep plum, interspersed with chocolate beams and demure paintings. Tall booths were built in, and various levels throughout the place gave each seating area an air of privacy. The servers looked sharp in their crisp, white dress shirts and black pants. All of them in their late twenties or older.

Isabella knew this place was quite expensive, and tried to force herself to fit into the role or hell, even the _age range _of anyone here.

Giving her head a diminutive shake, she directed her focus back on Mr. Black. Where it should have been anyways.

He was smiling politely once more at her, his entire frame turned in her direction.

And Isabella knew the game he wanted to play.

MA~TWIW~MA

Carefully, she turned, bumping her knee to his.

"Sorry!" she whispered, on a harsh intake of breath. As if that simple touch had left her reeling.

His smile turned gentle, and fingers found their way to her knee. Rubbing gently, he shushed her once more and leaned in closer.

"Isabella…" he breathed. "After all of the coy looks you give me at work, all the times you just happen to walk by my office or be in the break room at the same time as myself…you really want to play all shy _now_?"

Isabella looked down, playing carefully with her fingers. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Mr. Black. I'm just your employee, after all."

But she did, of course.

William Black was CEO of one of the largest investment firms in Seattle. His office was at the top of a fifteen story building; all dedicated to his company. He had more power and money than he knew what to do with.

He was king of the castle.

But the fact that he had an attraction to many of his young, female employees, many of whom kissed his ass day in and day out but he could do nothing with, caused him a slight…inconvenience.

One that he could not be happier to fill with Isabella.

Each time they had met the scenario had been slightly different. At his penthouse. At her apartment. Once even at his office where she worked as a substitute for one afternoon.

She knew, however, by how Mr. Black began their lunch "meeting", that this time was supposed to be _the first time_. That Mr. Black wanted to seduce, to capture.

Which was easy enough to act out for the naturally shy, quiet girl that Isabella was.

When their salads arrived, Mr. Black began eating with enthusiasm, pausing only briefly to watch as Isabella tentatively took a first bite. Once the food caught her focus, he carefully slid his hand up her thigh, as if absentmindedly, playing his fingers along the skin as if a stringed instrument. Isabella kept her attention on the salad, but her hand shook ever so slightly.

She took slow, careful bites.

His hand tightened. Wanting more.

Putting her fork down, Isabella turned to face him, a questioning look in her eyes.

And it was honest.

_What does he want me to do?_

He grasped her chin suddenly, like a hawk seizing its prey, but softened his fingers almost immediately. Slinking his hand up, along her cheek so that he cupped her from chin to temple, Mr. Black let out a deep sigh.

"I'm sure you hear it all the time, Ms. Swan, but you are very pretty."

A blush, as if on command, coloured her cheeks.

"And look at that lovely pink," he sighed once more, sweeping his thumb down her cheek, stroking her bottom lip.

Isabella sucked in air.

But it didn't deter him.

The hand that had previously been on her thigh wondered higher, over the fabric of her skirt, and swept up and down, from hip to waist.

Meanwhile, his thumb pushed gently on her lips, and at her gasp when he suddenly stroked the underside of her breast, it popped in her mouth.

"_Suck_, Isabella," he whispered.

Looking directly up into his eyes, she did.

* * *

**A/N: Part two of this hopefully out tomorrow. **

**Reviews give me motivation to write.**

**Thank you.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Mr. Black put an end to their play as soon as the main course arrived, swiftly taking both hands off of her and sliding over a few inches on the plush bench seat to allow for elbow room.

Digging in, all his energy was concentrated on his steak.

Isabella found this fortunate; she loved having a few moments to herself when with a client. Where she could collect her thoughts, and usually readjust her limits.

She took only small bites of her pasta; the perpetual knot in her gut causing her to lose any appetite she may have had. While what she received for this job made it undoubtedly worth it, both what she did and what was done to her still didn't sit right. Even after all this time, anytime she was with a client, Isabella felt out of body. As if it wasn't _her_, Bella from Forks, Washington, but someone completely different. Someone Isabella had never dreamed of being.

But maybe it was better that way.

They finished their meal in near silence; Mr. Black looking over at Isabella every couple of minutes.

His eyes were dark, predatory.

Purposefully, Isabella licked her lips once she finished.

Almost immediately, a hand shot under the table to touch her once more, only this time landing on the Promised Land. Up her skirt and right between her legs.

She dropped her fork to the table, attempting to stay in the act. To display her surprise.

Mr. Black leaned in close.

"Isabella, I know we are supposed to go to work now, but how would you like to play hooky?" His finger skimmed just beside her panties. "Maybe go for a little…drive?"

She looked up at him, purposefully widening her eyes slightly.

"I guess that would be okay," she whispered hesitantly, "I can trust you, right Mr. Black?"

"Oh, sweetie," he murmured, running a hand up and down her cheek, "of course you can."

MA~TWIW~MA

They made their way out of the restaurant and into Mr. Black's smooth black Audi, hand in hand. He opened the passenger door for her, helping her into her seat with a hand on her lower back.

It drifted down lower to her ass and squeezed just before she sat down.

Bella clicked on the seatbelt, and held her hands demurely in her lap. As if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

He started the car, and with another wide grin in her direction, they shot off.

Driving with purpose down a freeway, he took his hand off the gearshift and placed it into Isabella's lap, grabbing one of hers. He played with her fingers for a moment before slowly drawing her hand closer to himself.

He placed her hand right on the bulge in the front of his pants, looking into Isabella's face as he did so.

She gulped, looked down at where her hand was, and then back into Mr. Black's eyes.

"Mr. Black, would you… umm…would you tell me what to do, please?"

He let out a quiet, "fuck," and already his breathing was harder.

"Unzip me, Isabella."

She did, undoing his belt, and unclasping the top button first.

Pulling out his cock, and holding it in her hand, she waited for him to glance back at her before sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.

His eyes darkened.

"Now what, Mr. Black?"

He took his hand off her leg, where it had previously been resting, and placed his thumb at her mouth.

"Suck."

Then his forefinger.

And each finger until his hand was completely soaked, her saliva running down his palm to his wrist.

He bumped her hand off his cock, rubbing his own, now slick, hand up and down, a twist at the tip.

Moaning, eyes closed, he released himself before grabbing her hand once more, moving it up and down, squeezing harder than she would have on her own.

After a few minutes with his "help", he let go of her hand and allowed her to jerk him all by herself. Isabella concentrated on the head, and moved her hand lower to fondle his balls every couple of minutes.

Looking up at his face, it appeared he was only slightly affected by her efforts. However, judging by the bulging, purple tip of his cock, the fact that it was at its hardest, and the harsh pants his breathing had become, Isabella knew he would want to find a place to park.

And soon.

She was, of course, correct.

Taking an exit and pulling into an area of the city that was crowded with utilitarian, weathered brick buildings, trains cars, and empty space, Mr. Black quickly found a narrow alleyway and parked.

"Take off your shirt, Isabella."

She quickly ripped it off.

"Now," he pulled her hand off of him, "I want you to know, Isabella, that I care deeply for you. You know that, right, Sweetie?"

This said with his hard, glistening dick still out.

She stuttered. "I think so, Mr. Black."

"And would I be correct in saying," By this point he had ran out of willpower and looked down to her chest, "that you perhaps…care for me as well?"

"I think you would, Mr. Black," she whispered.

"Then get in the back seat."

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella was slouched down low on the back seat; the front passenger seat in front of her pushed all the way forward and folded down.

Mr. Black was in front of her parted legs, grinding into her as he pushed his tongue through her welcoming lips to claim her mouth.

His hands remained busy.

Pushing her skirt up, he quickly pulled her panties down to her knees. Reaching a hand behind her back, he unclasped the black bra, letting it fall to her elbows.

He slid his pants and boxers down so that they rested at his ankles.

All the while he enjoyed Isabella's mouth, not letting her to enter his mouth even once.

He broke away after a time, leaning back to enjoy the whole picture, she knew. There Isabella was, knees spread, gleaming pussy spread out for him. Her chest was flushed red, nipples hard. Her hair, so carefully curled before, was now everywhere. Her lips were a dark red from his manipulations, and her eyelids rested heavily.

"You're magnificent." He murmured.

He dove lower, sucking her clit into his mouth first before licking up and down her labia. He hummed at her slightly salty-sweet taste and Isabella moaned, enjoying herself.

Mr. Black was older after all, and therefore undoubtedly experienced.

He knew what he was doing, that was for sure.

He ate Isabella's pussy for quite a while, letting her cum on his mouth multiple times. Each time, the fingers that held onto his thinning hair squeezed harder, and a cry fell from her lips.

She was exhausted already, and they hadn't even got to the fucking.

After she came once more, he pulled her hips up, placing one of her legs on each of his shoulders, and leaned forward, a hand resting on the back seat. By this point, Isabella was completely horizontal, her head turned at an awkward angle to allow for this position. She waited.

He rubbed his cock up and down her pussy, getting it wet once more, before slowly slipping it inside.

They both moaned.

He fucked her slowly, pushing as deep as he could and pulling out, almost the entire way. This could only last so long, she knew, and after a time, he pulled out.

Quickly pushing her legs off of his arms, he reversed their position so that he was seated on the backseat and Isabella was seated on him. She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, and he thrust his way inside.

He pushed and pulled her hips, up and down. It was clear he was running out of patience, as her forced her thrusts to be harder. And harder. Her tits bouncing in front of his face, his sucked in a nipple, biting it to keep it from dropping out.

Isabella attempted to keep herself grounded, despite the rough movements. She pushed her face harder into his shoulder, holding tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her hips were moving wildly, through no effort of her own, and she could feel another orgasm approach.

She couldn't help it, after all.

She came, letting out a sob.

Mr. Black grunted, feeling her inner muscles squeezing him. He forced her down on him once more, and pumped his own hips into her wildly. He pulled out quickly, threw her underneath him, and used his hand to pump his cock.

He came, letting it land on her stomach, her chest, and her neck.

Isabella felt her stomach drop.

_Jesus Christ_.

She hadn't even realized he wasn't wearing a condom.

Lying there, with cum drying and hardening on her skin, Isabella closed her eyes.

After two years of doing this, and to make this kind of mistake?

She had never hated herself more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

_Standing at the pastel green Formica table, Bella hummed as she worked. _

_Measuring and snipping. _

_Measuring and snipping._

_"It's getting a little thin on top, Pops," she teased._

_Her father, seated in front of her, grumbled. Without looking away from the newspaper lying in front of him, he tentatively reached up to feel the thin hair Bella was cutting._

_A deep sigh. A slump in his shoulders._

_Leaning over, Bella flicked on the old crank radio. Trying to lighten the suddenly dismal atmosphere with some music._

_A familiar tune made its way through the small radio:_

Wishin' on a falling star

Waitin' for the early train

Sorry boy, but I've been hit by the purple rain

Aw, come on Joe, you can always

Change your name

Thanks a lot, son, just the same.

_Bella's throat seized up; her breath coming out in a sharp burst._

_Charlie turned around to smile at her, his eyes shining. _

_"Your mother always loved this song…"_

MA~TWIW~MA

Panting, Isabella awoke. She sat up sharply in bed, quickly realizing her phone was ringing, playing a simple ringtone.

Definitely not _that _song.

Shaking her head to release the last vestiges of sleep, and not to mention the dream, Isabella let the phone ring once more before she answered.

"'Lo?" She croaked, immediately attempting to clear her throat.

"_Good morning, Isabella._"

"H-hi, Dr. Cullen," she stuttered, nervous.

He chuckled.

"_Hi, yourself._"

Then,

"_I have someone for you this evening. Are you ready?_"

She squeaked out a yes before grabbing the small notebook and pen from her bedside table, poised to take note.

"_Before I go on, Isabella, I must warn you. This may be a little out of your comfort zone… Do you think you are willing to try?_"

Genuine concern coloured his voice.

Looking over at the small picture of _him _placed on the bedside table, Isabella answered Dr. Cullen with an affirmative yes.

She didn't really have a choice, did she?

"_Okay…_" Still hesitant. "_Mr. Hunter has a predilection for filming his sexual activities. However, he hasn't found a partner who is willing to try, I guess. This need of his, and Isabella, it _is_ a need, has been causing him significant stress. It has impacted his job performance and his life with his two kids_."

Isabella quickly sucked in some air.

"_Ex-wife, Isabella_."

She breathed.

"_Now_," Mr. Cullen spoke slightly louder, getting back on track. "_This will be a one-time thing as of now. He has signed a contract saying he will only use the film for his own viewing, uh, pleasure. If he shows it to anyone else, or puts it online, there will be consequences_."

Humming in acknowledgement, Isabella felt slightly relieved.

"_I'll email him back with the time and place, Isabella. Shall we say nine?_"

"Okay."

"_Dress like a hooker_. _I will call you in the morning_."

"Okay, I will. Thank you, Mr.—"

_Click._

MA~TWIW~MA

James Hunter was not at all as Isabella expected.

Not that she really had any expectations, though. Dr. Cullen hadn't given her much information, besides the fact that Mr. Hunter liked to film sex.

A fact she still felt unsettled about.

However, when the short, balding man with an ill-fitting suit, scuffed shoes, and sweat dripping from his brow walked through her doorway, Isabella's eyes widened.

"You're a lot younger than I imagined." His face impassive, not revealing a thing.

Isabella tried to stand up taller, but she knew it was impossible to really hide her youth.

"Don't worry," he sent her a toothy leer, leaning in close, "I like 'em that way."

She smiled before turning on her heel with Mr. Hunter following.

She didn't think she'd be able to hold off her grimace any longer.

Isabella had her hair backcombed and fluffed, her makeup dark and tragic. Wearing a sheer mesh shirt with no bra, a black leather skirt paired with fishnet stocking, and killer black boots, Isabella looked every bit of the whore she was.

Of course, Dr. Cullen would never give her that job description. Not at all.

But Isabella was not stupid.

Sitting at her usual spot on the brown sofa, she waited. One leg crossed over the other. Hands folded in her lap.

Mr. Hunter leisurely sat down right next to her, his thigh pressed against her, a hand already grabbing at the bare skin between her stockings and skirt.

"This isn't where it'll happen, is it?"

_What?_

"Uh, no. It can happen wherever you would like, Mr. Hunter."

He nodded, looking contemplative.

"Show me the bedroom, then."

Trying to lose the unsettled feeling Isabella had since she first laid eyes on Mr. Hunter, and get into the headspace she went when with a client, she slowly picked up his hand, linking their fingers together.

A sweaty palm over dry skin.

Nice.

Opening the door to the bedroom, with its domineering bed dressed in blue and gold, Isabella quickly led her guest inside the room.

He dropped her hand and reached into the large bag on his back.

"I guess this will do."

And Isabella spent the next twenty minutes watching as he set up camera after camera. One on the small desk against the side wall. One on the chest at the foot of the bed. One high-tech one stuck onto the light fixture above their heads.

Knocking over the picture on her bedside table, he set up a camera there as well.

The final camera he held himself, pointing it straight at her. The small red light did nothing to appease her nervousness.

"Climb onto the bed."

She did, sitting right in the center.

"Sit on your feet, your knees spread wide."

She did, feeling her naked slit exposed.

"Hold your hands behind your back."

She did, knowing that this position thrust her chest forward.

"Now, touch yourself."

She did, thankful that she had previously lubed herself as she did with most of her clients.

This way, he would never know that touching herself, in front of a camera no less, was definitely _not_ a turn on.

She began playing with her tits, through the sheer material. Twisting and rubbing. Squeezing and tweaking.

Sliding a hand down her stomach, she dipped a finger into her bellybutton before bringing her hand back up, sucking her forefinger, and middle finger, into her mouth. All the while one hand still played with her tits.

Wasting no time, Isabella moved her slick hand down to her pussy, tracing quick circles around and around her clit. She gathered more lubricant from her lower lips, and thrust a finger inside. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Isabella let out a quiet moan, her head falling back and to the side to rest on her shoulder.

She tried to ignore the man in the room, but it was difficult. Throughout her entire display, Mr. Hunter had been moving in closer, and by this point, he was lying on the bed in front of her, his camera almost touching her busy fingers.

"Open that pussy up," he growled.

After thrusting two fingers deep inside, she pushed them apart, feeling the movement stretch her.

His camera came in closer.

Once he filmed several more minutes of this, he told her to stop. Setting down the camera on the bed beside them, he began to undress, letting his clothing fall to the floor.

Grey hair on his chest. Round, podgy stomach. Small dick.

The last observation had Isabella feeling thankful.

"Lay down on your back."

She did, and Mr. Hunter made quick work of her clothing, if one could call it that. Tearing open the front of her shirt, he quickly palmed her breasts before moving down. He pushed her skirt up and pushed three stubby fingers in where Isabella's long, dainty ones had just been.

She yelped.

After swiftly sheathing himself in a condom, he pushed inside. Isabella was still on her back, her legs parted to each side, her breathing quick. He leaned over her, one hand on the mattress beside her shoulder, the other still playing with her tits. He breathed hot breaths all over her face while driving into her with small, shallow thrusts.

Isabella attempted not to squirm. Not to turn her head away from the pungent breath.

But it was difficult.

He quickly became tired of that position and pulled out.

"Get on your side, face to the camera."

She did.

He moved in behind her, pushing her top leg forward so that he could make his way in once more. Being a couple inches shorter than her to begin with, and also thrusting in from slightly beneath her, his breath hit her mid-back.

He fucked her like this for some time before he changed positions once again.

Sitting with his back against the headboard, he pulled her into his lap, facing him, one bent leg on either side of his.

He leaned back, hands behind his head.

"Start moving."

And she did.

MA~TWIW~MA

It continued. Position after position. Isabella's once fluffy and teased hair was wet and matted to her scalp with sweat. Both of their bodies were slick, and her muscles ached with use.

By the time he moved her into a seventh position, he had been fucking her for over an hour.

Isabella had needed to re-lube three times already and Mr. Hunter had popped what she guessed was a second Viagra.

Isabella was lying on her stomach, spread eagle and exhausted, when he finally finished.

She woke up the next morning, having no recollection of him leaving.

But the note on the pillow beside her was quick to remind her.

_See you soon,_

_James._

* * *

**A/N: I would just like to thank all of you for reading, and especially thank those wonderful people who reviewed. You are awesome.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Not a long chapter, but a lot going on! Enjoy reading :)**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Oh, hello Isabella! And how are you today?"

Isabella gave the matronly lady a smile. "Fine, Mrs. Cope. How are you?"

"Just fine, Dear. Dr. Cullen will be ready for you in a moment. Would you like a beverage for while you wait? I have—"

"Tea, coffee, water, or juice. Got it, Mrs. Cope. Thanks."

It had been close to two years since Isabella first stepped foot in this office, and had come once a month since then. Yet Mrs. Cope – Dr. Cullen's office manager – still always acted as though it was her first time.

Amused, Isabella sat down to wait on one of the large, plush chairs in the waiting area.

A psychologist's office should be comfortable, after all.

MA~TWIW~MA

With the sizable, mahogany desk between them, Isabella watched Dr. Cullen as he took notes in the stereotypical writing pad used by shrinks. He had a head of thick salt and pepper hair, a sharp jawline, crystal blue eyes, and muscular arms and shoulders.

She knew for a fact that the man was in his late fifties, but to Isabella, he sure didn't look it.

"And how was your time with Mr. Black, Isabella?" He asked, looking up at her from his notes.

Thinking of what new information she could tell him, Bella let her gaze wonder, over the multiple certificates adorning the walls of Dr. Cullen's office, and out the large picture window to the street below.

A black car was parked at the curb, and it reminded Isabella explicitly of her last meeting with Mr. Black.

Her face flushed.

Dr. Cullen leaned in closer.

Isabella took a deep breath and then let it out slowly before answering. "Everything was fine. As you know, we met at the restaurant and engaged in…our activities…in his car. I think that last time, in his office and all, was too much for him. It made it too real. And with him getting in…trouble once, the car was most private."

Dr. Cullen nodded.

"Yes, I had figured as much. Tell me, did he use your name this time or were you still anonymous to him?"

"He still used pet names frequently, but he definitely said my name several times as well."

"Excellent. Anything else?" He looked carefully into her eyes.

Isabella felt her stomach drop, and couldn't help but look down at her hands. She knew she had to tell him about the condom, or rather, _lack _of condom.

Would he think her as stupid as she had felt?

Would he stop this arrangement with her, stop everything, because she had acted and behaved so carelessly? So recklessly? She didn't know what she would do…

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut. Tight.

Almost immediately she felt a hand on her forearm.

"Tell me, Isabella."

She opened her eyes and peered into the suddenly icy blue. Dr. Cullen had moved to squat down beside her, his mouth set in a grim line.

Isabella gulped.

"H-he didn't-use-a-condom," she finally admitted, her voice a panicked squeak. "He had…um, gone down on me, a lot, and I…just didn't realize. He – Mr. Black – pulled out and everything but I…"

"_What?_"

Isabella could clearly hear the fury, the emotion, that he had poorly attempted to keep at bay.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Dr. Cullen. I won't ever make this mistake again, I promise! I –"

"Shh, girl. Be calm. I don't blame you." He reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You don't?" Isabella replied, shocked.

"No. Although I do expect you to act more professionally, Isabella. This cannot happen again. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"However, in this case, Mr. Black's actions were obviously premeditated. The fact that he engaged in oral sex with you beforehand, and to a considerable amount to my understanding, is proof."

"Yes." Isabella knew there was no disputing it.

"I will talk with him about it during his next appointment. And if he cannot agree to use protection, well, you will not be seeing him any longer."

Suddenly clapping his hands together and standing up, Dr. Cullen made his way back to his chair.

"With that taken care of, I would like to inform you that I met with Jasper Whitlock once again, _after _your time with him. He felt you thoroughly helped to alleviate some of his anxiety towards sexual activities. He will be meeting with you soon and you can progress things further along. Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Alright then. We will be in touch, Isabella."

She knew she was free to go once Dr. Cullen looked down at his papers, effectively dismissing her.

However, it was only after Isabella left the office that she remembered they had forgotten to discuss James Hunter.

She pushed it from her mind.

That could wait until next time.

MA~TWIW~MA

Having a day off with no clients, no appointments, no _worry_, was something Isabella always looked forward to. It was during these times that she would give her apartment and car a thorough cleaning. She would catalogue what food and household items she needed to purchase and make a trip to the small grocery a few blocks away. She would spend time reorganizing her closet, because no matter what she did, it could never stay neat and orderly for long. She would carefully review her finances, putting every cent away in savings that she didn't need for her expenses. She would go out and purchase any clothing or supplies that she needed for any of her clients.

Yes; Isabella definitely liked to stay busy.

_Keep her mind on safe thoughts_, she thought.

_And off the terrible ones_.

So when, at 9:00 PM on one of these days off, Isabella's doorbell suddenly buzzed, alerting her that a guest was waiting downstairs, Isabella sat up straight in her seat.

No…

Did she?

Had she somehow forgotten someone?

No…

How?

It wasn't like she really knew anyone here in Seattle that would just be stopping by, unannounced. Her acquaintances during the school year at University were just that - acquaintances. Whoever it was, it had to be connected to her job. However, Isabella always made careful note of when and where each appointment was. She always spent longer than necessary preparing and getting ready for exactly "what the doctor ordered", so to speak.

She always spent way too long worrying over what was to come.

Therefore, Isabella just couldn't understand how she had somehow forgotten about whoever was at her door –

_Ding!_

– Now.

_Shit! Someone must have let him in_, She thought.

Creeping to the door, Isabella peered through her peephole. But whoever was there must have been standing just off to the side as she saw no one.

_Just open the freaking door, Bella! _She thought.

And, after taking a deep breath in, she did.

* * *

**A/N: And who do you suppose is at the door? ;)**

**I'm also interested to know what you guys think of Dr. Cullen. Let me know!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Isabella couldn't help but feel incredibly stunned when she saw who was standing out in the hall, waiting for her.

Tall. So tall.

She knew she would fit under his chin.

And that chin!

Strong, like his jaw. With scruff covering it. Dark scruff. To match the dark, serious eyebrows atop sparkling green eyes.

Eyes that seemed to bore into hers.

Were they questioning? Angry? Impassive?

Did they match the tight lips, the locked jaw? _That_ jaw?

She didn't know.

His hair was a messy mop onto of his head. _Sex hair_, she believed it was called. Like passionate, needy fingers had been pulling on it. Like it couldn't be tamed.

He was wearing a white, button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants. Sleeves pushed to the elbow. Top bottom undone. Showing off his lean, toned chest –

He cleared his throat, quirking one of _those_ eyebrows in her direction.

Isabella's face flamed.

_What the hell am I doing?_ She admonished herself, realizing with horror that she had just spent however long simply _staring_, probably open-mouthed too. No hello. No how-are-you. No welcoming gesture to come inside.

She wasn't at all behaving like the professional she knew she could be. The professional that had led to her to maintaining this…_arrangement_ with Dr. Cullen for almost two years.

She was behaving like a thirteen-year-old girl.

_What is that about, anyways?_

It's not like Isabella had felt any attraction towards a man since her high school boyfriend two years prior. And even the boyish Mike Newton hadn't caused _this_ strong a response in her.

She didn't do crushes.

She didn't do relationships.

The only _personal life_ she had was 75 miles away, stuck in a room all by himself.

So why was she reacting this way, now, to a _stranger_?

Clearing her own throat in return, Isabella knew she had some making up to do for this terrible and embarrassing beginning. For God's sake, she didn't even know what his name was! Moreover, she wasn't at all prepared for any kind of client, being that she was just wearing an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts. Her hair up in a bun at the top of her head. Not a stitch of makeup. Comfy, wool socks on her feet.

Yeah… she must look a sight.

Isabella shook her head. She knew she must fix this situation, but she also knew that she _could_. After all, she had been with a lot of different men doing this job, and had learned a lot during the process.

She sent the stranger a small smile before lifting up her right hand.

She knew, out of politeness, that he would automatically lift up his own to meet hers. Especially being the white-collared kind of guy he appeared to be.

And of course, he did just that.

"Nice to meet you," Isabella murmured, feeling the smooth skin of his hand, and holding onto to the handshake a beat longer than necessary.

"I hope I can say the same." He looked more confused and maybe a smidge angrier, as well?

But his voice…a rich timbre, something dark, kept just under the surface…

_Interesting_.

Isabella swept her fingers along his skin as she let go, and lifted her hand to play with the loose tendrils of hair near her neck.

"Care to follow me?" She questioned.

He nodded.

She turned, leaving the apartment door wide open for him. Her quick assessment of this man had her reeling, but she thought she had picked up on at least a few things that could help her.

First of all, he seemed confused.

_Maybe he's not sure about this?_

Slightly angry.

_Possessive, perhaps? Like Mr. McCarty?_

Quiet.

_Maybe wants her to take the lead, at least at first?_

And, most overwhelmingly: beautiful.

_Must not have trouble with attracting a partner. _

_Then why go and see her, though? _

Isabella sat down in her token spot on the brown sofa, her thoughts still running a mile a minute. The man chose the recliner, and simply…stared. At her. Eyes fixed to hers. He sat comfortably, she thought, with his legs widespread, arms resting on either side of him, back leaning against the brown leather.

And he just _stared_.

"I need to know…" she began, leaning forward. "What you would like me to call you." Her voice was soft, slow, and sexy.

The man's eyes widened and his mouth popped open.

Inwardly, Isabella smirked.

"Edward," he finally blurted out, "Edward, uh, Masen."

"_Edward_," she rolled his name off her tongue, and stood up. Maybe if she could seduce him, make him crazy, wild, out of his mind, he would forget all about her awkward, adolescent behaving earlier?

Without even taking a step in his direction, Isabella peeled her t-shirt over her head, exposing her bare chest and black, cheeky panties. She then turned her back on him, before bending over slightly to place the shirt on the couch.

His shocked gasp spoke wonders.

She sat back down to slowly take off the offending socks as well, and placed them neatly on top of the shirt.

"Ms. Swan – what are you…what are you_ doing_?"

Looking back up at his face, his eyebrows jumping almost into his hairline, his mouth open wider than ever, Isabella crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back on her hands, effectively thrusting her chest forward.

"Don't you sometimes think, _Edward_, that clothing is much too…restrictive?"

He gulped, but didn't reply.

"I mean," She chuckled lightly, "How am I supposed to relax, to let my skin _breathe_, if I can't sometimes just take Every. Stitch. Off?"

Once again, he said nothing, but his increasingly loud breathing told her all that she needed to know.

She slid a hand down her chest, fondling a tit momentarily, before slipping it lower, and lower, until a finger skimmed the band of her panties.

"How am I supposed to really _touch myself_, Edward?"

He shuddered.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella was slightly surprised when the man, Edward, didn't leave his chair at that moment. She could tell, though, that he wanted to. That his thigh muscles tensed and his hands squeezed the soft leather of the chair.

Hard.

She would need to push him further, she knew.

She wanted him unglued… uncontrolled…

_And she wasn't quite sure why._

Pretending the draw he had on her, the speechlessness he provoked, the flush, the…_dampening_, wasn't there in every breath she took, every beat of her broken heart, but that he was a just a client like all of the rest, Isabella reached up and released her hair, letting it fall down past her shoulders.

She then slid to the floor, to her hands and knees.

She could feel her breasts swinging and her hips swaying, slightly, as she crawled over to the shocked man across from her. Her hair hung down, over her shoulders, as she kept her head down. Eyes to the floor.

Respectful.

Submissive.

Compliant.

She took a great deal of time to cross the short distance, and when she had finally arrived, settling herself on the floor at his feet, she slowly looked up at his face.

It was like he was made of stone.

Everything clenched.

Everything hard.

_Everything_.

"Would you like to try, Edward?" Isabella spoke with barely a whisper.

She slipped his shiny, black shoe off of one foot, then the other. Sliding her hands up a pant leg, she grasped the thick band of his sock and pulled it down, and off.

She repeated the gesture with his other foot.

She picked up the first foot once more and set it in her lap, his heel sitting in the space the between her legs, mere inches from her near-naked heat. She slowly ran her hand up and down the sole of his foot before using her index finger to scratch a line right down the middle, from top to bottom.

He jumped.

Leaning forward so that her ass rose in the air, Isabella placed a small kiss on the top of his foot before bringing her hands back up his legs, this time on the outside of his dark pants. She could feel his strong calf muscle under her finger tips, but when she reached his thighs, and felt the thick, tense muscles there, she stopped her movements.

She quickly nuzzled her cheek there and was instantly surprised when she felt a hand in her hair.

Gentle.

Moving slowly through her long tendrils, lightly caressing her scalp.

_Mmm…_

Isabella couldn't help but close her eyes, face still resting on his leg, for just a moment. It just felt so _nice_…

But she had to continue.

It was her job, after all.

Dragging her chin forward, along his thigh and towards the bulging zipper between his legs, she looked up at his eyes, oh so dark where before they were the vibrant green, before moving the last few inches.

One kiss she placed there. On that zipper.

Before the gentle hand tugged her head back.

A raspy voice, thick with tension.

"No! For fuck's sake, _stop_!"

* * *

**A/N: So...theories, anyone?**

**I love to hear from you!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I work six days a week at two jobs which doesn't exactly leave me much writing time. Alas, here is the next chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

"This is…fuck. This isn't what I came here for."

Edward let go of her quickly, and leaned elbows to knees. Face down. Hands rubbing at his eyes.

Isabella's stomach dropped and bile rose up in her throat at Edward's words. There she was, naked except for some skimpy panties, and making a complete whore of herself in front of a man, who technically, she knew _nothing_ about. So lost was she in what she had thought he needed and wanted, that she didn't stop and take even a moment of time to really assess the situation.

His hesitancy.

His confusion.

She had read him entirely wrong.

And now, still kneeling at his feet, she didn't think she had ever felt as ashamed as she did right then.

Of her job.

Of her behaviour.

Of herself.

She wanted to die.

Isabella guessed that her face was bright red, and most likely her neck and chest as well.

Suddenly, her flight instinct kicked in.

"Sorry," she whispered, knowing he probably didn't even hear, before she dashed to her bedroom and dived under the blue and gold comforter. She moved so quickly, without looking back, that she couldn't be sure if Edward had looked up at her disappearance or not.

_Probably not._

Poking her head out, but still keeping the bedding wrapped closely around her body, Isabella listened carefully to sounds of Edward's departure. She still believed he was a client; there was just nothing else he could be, but she was also sure that she had completely ruined whatever was supposed to happen this evening. The best outcome, she figured, of this entire debacle would be his withdrawal from Dr. Cullen's "supplementary" therapy. That she would never have to come face to face with him again.

And, despite her humiliation, a small piece of her heart broke right then at the thought of never seeing him again.

She didn't understand why.

MA~TWIW~MA

Isabella waited, and waited. Over ten minutes had passed before she heard footsteps.

"Isabella?"

Edward stood at her doorway, looking up just enough to meet her eyes. She closed them quickly, avoiding whatever was in his, and pulled the comforter even tighter around herself.

She didn't know if she did it as protection from him, or for him.

Her eyes remained shut until she felt a dip in the bed, just beside her.

And there he was. His face much closer than she had seen before. She hadn't realized, but his eyes were quite different from what she had originally assumed. The overwhelming green that had caused her to take a second glance earlier actually contained flecks of golden brown. Laugh lines were evident around his eyes, despite how young he appeared.

But what she noticed, most of all, that she was sure hadn't been there before, was the overwhelming kindness that came across. In his eyes, in his faint smile, and in his body language.

Something had definitely changed in those ten minutes since she had spinelessly left.

His entire being was different.

Tentatively, Edward reached out and put a hand over Isabella's blanket-clenching fist, never breaking eye-contact. Sudden warmth swept through Isabella at his touch. From toes to fingertips. A feeling of _rightness_ that she didn't think she could describe.

Squeezing lightly, he murmured, "I'm so sorry, Isabella."

She couldn't help but feel shock.

_What on earth could he feel sorry for? _

But he just continued on, despite her open-mouthed stare. His voice, somehow deep and rough but soft and gentle at the same time.

"I didn't understand, when I came here. But I do now, I promise Isabella. You-you are just…"

Words seemed to fail him, and he stuttered slightly, thinking of what to say.

"You are just so goddamned beautiful. So breathtaking. I couldn't react, couldn't think, from the moment you opened your door. And I am so sorry for hurting you. Please don't feel…embarrassed."

A pink tinge suddenly covered Edward's cheeks.

"It's not like I didn't like…no… _love_, what you were doing."

Edward looked down quickly and Isabella couldn't help but feel the need to soothe him in his discomfiture.

Loosening her fingers from the blanket and letting it droop down to rest on her shoulders, on her breasts, she tentatively reached up and brushed her hand across his cheek, feeling the texture of his stubble.

"I'm sorry, too."

What more could she say?

Edward shook his head, as if disagreeing with her apology, but made no comment.

"Where do we go from here?" He murmured instead.

Inexplicable hope lanced through Isabella, lighting her up from the inside. Could he possible want to salvage this; start over? She didn't know, but she could not deny to herself how much she wished it could be true.

And still, she didn't know why.

Almost as if thinking to himself, Edward answered his own question. "Would you like to get to know each other, Isabella? Maybe go grab a bite to eat? Get a drink?"

She couldn't help but tease, so elated she was that he wasn't leaving. "Like on a _date_?" Her smile was wide, and he responded in kind.

"_Exactly_ like a date."

Ideas of where they could go, what they could do, tumbled through Isabella's mind. But, ultimately, she really just wanted to spend time with him; it didn't matter where.

"Well, we could just order in, you know, and watch a movie?" She hinted, her smile never leaving.

Edward blew out a great gush of air.

"If you think so…" hesitancy dripped from his words. "It's just really…_hard_…to sit here with you, like this" – a pointed glare at her half-exposed breasts – "And control myself. Especially after what you did…I mean…"

They both turned away, blushing like teenagers.

"I'll put on some clothes, I promise." Isabella joked.

"Doubt that will help," she heard Edward mutter under his breath before shifting his weight off of the bed to begin leaving the room. "Let me know when you are…decent." He said out loud, his voice a mere grunt.

Isabella laughed again, not remembering the last time she felt this carefree, this…_happy_. Especially with a client. What was that about anyway?

She would really need to do some self-inspecting when this night was over.

MA~TWIW~MA

Sitting side by side on her micro-suede sofa, their legs brushing under the privacy of a throw blanket, Edward and Isabella watched a movie, but Isabella knew that neither of them could give two shits about it.

Stealing sidelong glances.

Fingers playing with other fingers.

Her head, coming to rest on his shoulder.

And_, Oh God_, the smell of him.

Minimal conversation ensued, with the excuse of whatever movie was playing, but to Isabella, there was a more distinct reason.

They both felt an overwhelming attraction towards one another, something that was absolutely foreign to her, yet both knew that the circumstance they were under would not allow them to attain _more_ than what their attraction hinted at.

In other words, if they weren't careful, Isabella knew that her lustful feelings for Edward could easily take on…romantic tendencies.

And if that were to happen, if she allowed herself to fall, well, they would both be doomed.

Her livelihood didn't exactly make room for relationships, after all.

So, sitting with her head on his arm, her hand in his, Isabella knew that she needed to turn herself off, and become the _other Isabella_. She knew that if…_this_…didn't become just about sex, and fast, that the dangerous path they were already on would change into a freefall.

Isabella removed her head from his arm and closed her eyes tightly.

_She could do this._

_She needed to do this._

_He is just like all the rest of them. Just another client. That's it._

_Even if what he needed, what he wanted, was a doting girlfriend, she could be that. She could be his dream girl._

_She would be his dream girl._

She just couldn't allow him to be her dream guy.

* * *

**A/N: Well, what did you think? I'm excited to hear your thoughts!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Carefully, Isabella leaned her head back onto Edward's shoulder.

She would need to be careful.

Subtle.

Gentle.

And maintain the perfect balance.

Loving and attentive on the outside. Detached and impassive on the inside.

Taking their linked hands from the crevice between their legs, Isabella deftly, almost absentmindedly, placed them onto her leg. The back of his hand resting on her thigh. With her eyes remaining firmly locked onto the television, she let go of his hand and played with his fingers once more.

Edward didn't move, didn't look away from the movie himself, so Isabella stepped it up a notch.

Lifting his hand slightly, she flipped it over and ran her fingers down his smooth knuckles to his fingernails.

Edward grasped her thigh in response, looking down immediately to see just how…_close_ to Isabella his hand was.

His eyes widened slightly, and he hastily looked away.

Isabella inwardly smiled when he didn't, however, make a move to remove his hand.

If anything….yes…his hand slid, ever so slowly, closer to her core.

Turning her face into his neck, and breathing in his scent of clean soap, a hint of sweat, and delicious man, Isabella let a miniscule moan slip from her throat.

_Mmm…_

She cleared her mind.

_Be interested. Make him feel like you want him...for more than just sex._

She sighed.

_Not exactly difficult…_

"Edward?" she murmured.

"Mm?"

"What do you do?"

He chuckled, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "I feel like…like we aren't strangers enough to need to ask those basic questions. But I guess we are, aren't we?"

Isabella turned so that her lips pressed briefly into his neck.

"I'm hoping to change that," she whispered.

Edward shuddered beside her. Whether from at her touch or her words, she didn't know.

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and pulled away from her slightly, his eyes locking with hers.

"I am at University of Washington working towards my PhD in Anthropology of Religion. I also teach some basic Anthropology classes and write research papers in my spare time to financially sustain myself. When I'm not working on my dissertation, that is."

Isabella just sat, shocked.

_Holy Cow! Who is this man?_

"And how old are you?" She managed to squeak out.

The hint of a smirk appeared across his lips before he answered. "I'm twenty-five. Not young exactly, but definitely a lot younger than most of my peers. But, you know, I've been going to school my entire life, non-stop."

A small bubble of shame welled up in Isabella's gut. Just twenty-five and to have already accomplished so much? With the way her life was at that moment, she couldn't imagine that. That success. Achievement. Whatever.

She knew she had a year and a half of post-secondary already under her belt, and at just twenty years of age, that wasn't much behind the rest of her peers. However, just the thought of achieving her undergraduate degree was a stretch, given her situation.

Because, really, how much longer could she last at this…this _job_? More and more, she could feel pieces of herself, of herself before, slipping away. Every day. Every time. Every client. And it terrified her. She didn't ever want to have to look into the mirror and see the girl she was becoming, a girl so unlike who she had been before.

And if she didn't last the next two years, how would she manage to stay in school? Working two full-time jobs wouldn't even cover all of her expenses, let alone tuition.

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut once more, wanting more than anything to dissipate that rather depressing line of thinking.

She hurriedly thought over Edward's words, attempting to grasp at something, anything, to distract her. Luckily, there was much to question him on.

"Why Anthropology? Why Religious Anthropology? What is your dissertation about? What-"

Edward let out a quiet chuckle, halting her desperate words.

"Whoa, there. One question at a time, Missy."

Isabella playfully rolled her eyes.

"To answer your first question, Anthropology 100 was my first class ever, just an elective. But I loved it, so I stuck with it. My inclination towards Religious Anthro developed later. And for your last question, I spent a year in Malaysia, and thus my dissertation has to do with that."

Every word out of Edward's mouth had Isabella's jaw widening further and further, and if she were to acknowledge it to herself, her panties dampened too. She couldn't get over how intelligent, passionate, and _sexy_ Edward sounded when he talked about his career.

If it was socially acceptable, she would have been fanning the air in front of her face.

_Or humping his leg._

"So what about Malaysia? How did a year there turn into a dissertation?" Isabella couldn't help but to press, wanting to hear more of his sexy words.

Edward gave her a small, questioning look that said, "_Are you actually interested in this?_"

She smiled back. "_I am. Trust me. I am._"

His words, hesitant at first, gradually picked up energy and emotion. "There is an incredibly interesting joining of people there, of Muslim, Buddhist, and Hindu people. They all seem to live and work together in society harmoniously, but of course there still is a hierarchy; still a social order. It's fascinating."

He looked at her then, carefully, his eyes still full of question…and fear?

_Did other girls reject him, for this? _

There was nothing else for Isabella to do.

No.

She didn't think she had any choice.

None at all.

She launched herself at him.

MA~TWIW~MA

Edward fell back onto the throw pillow adorning the arm of the sofa, his hands grasping behind himself, attempting to find purchase on something.

Isabella immediately straddled his stomach, her hands pushing his shoulders back. Her mouth on his.

She could taste the white wine that they had partaken in earlier on his tongue. She could feel his scruff as it rubbed against her cheeks and chin. She could smell their combined scents, but mostly his… that delicious aroma. She could feel his hands as they moved to grasp her ass, thrusting her against him right…_there_.

The sensations had Isabella hotter than she could ever remember being. She felt out of her mind; her body betraying her in its movements.

And they had only just started making out.

Isabella arched her spine when he hit a particularly excellent spot, and Edward immediately broke away from her lips to suck on a covered tit. Taking her hands off of his chest, she ripped her shirt over her head.

Her bra was still missing.

Edward groaned loudly, immediately nuzzling his face in between her breasts. Isabella let her fingers grip his hair, keeping his face to her.

_Lord..._

She could feel the warmth seep through her, her skin tingling and sensitive wherever his hands touched, whenever they grinded against one another. She was a wreck of sensation; of absolute desire.

She could think little of why they were doing this; of the true reasons behind this…this joining. All she could think of was what she was feeling; of the overwhelming_ need_ encompassing her.

It didn't matter that he was a client.

It didn't matter that he was technically paying for her.

It didn't matter that she had kept this part of herself – this sensual, sexual part – completely separate from her true self for so long.

Nothing mattered.

Except for the feeling of Edward's mouth.

Of his hands.

And of his cock.

Against her.

Just when Isabella thought she was going to lose herself completely, Edward stopped.

His hands remained on her, but his hips were still and his mouth had let go of her tit, and was instead blowing warm gusts of air onto her neck.

She couldn't help but to whine in response.

"Isabella…" he gasped, quietly. "I think we should stop."

She could still feel underneath her soaked core that there was definitely one part of him that didn't want to stop.

"Why?" The word shook, the level of hurt in her voice betraying her.

Edward closed his eyes. His chest rising and falling underneath her as he took a deep breath.

Gentry, he lifted her off of him and sat up, cuddling her to him instead.

"I want to get to know you first," he whispered, staring at her.

The only thing she could do without crying was to nod.

Because she knew that was impossible.

And it broke her heart.

* * *

**A/N: I have no idea where this chapter came from...these characters really write for themselves lol.**

**Please leave a review; I love to hear what you think.**

**Thank you!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading, following, and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you.**

**Several people asked to know about Edward…and what his deal is. **

**It's okay that you're confused about him. That's sort of my plan. You will find out about Edward at the same time Bella does, Mkay?**

**Also…sorry for the late update!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

Awkwardness had permeated the air as Isabella put her shirt on once more and Edward willed his erection to go down. Both had slick skin, shaky limbs, and disappointed hearts.

But Isabella thought she understood what Edward wanted.

An emotional connection.

A relationship.

Meaningful sex.

She just couldn't for the life of her understand why he had come to her to receive these things.

Could he possibly want all of them – in this fake setting – to avoid heartbreak? To avoid the messy aftermath that almost all relationships fall into? Was it possible that he just wanted to try it out? See how he would do in a relationship setting?

Maybe he had been in some doozies.

Maybe this was the reason why he had obviously gone to Dr. Cullen.

Isabella nodded to herself.

A _relationship-phobe_.

It made sense.

She thought.

But she couldn't be sure. At all.

And if that really was the case, where did it leave her?

Edward and Isabella looked to one another once they had each calmed down, and with a nod of agreement to Edward's head jerk towards the door, Isabella stood to lead him out.

"I'll need your number, you know," Edward said quietly, a small shrug to his shoulders.

Isabella grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, handing it to him.

Only after he had recorded her number into his phone and passed her back her own, did she realize.

Never before had a client had her personal phone number.

Dr. Cullen had _always_ arranged everything.

So why had she given Edward Masen it?

Isabella shook her head. She would really need to think things through.

She felt cool, soft fingers grip her own. Looking up, Isabella stared into the vivid green, the intensity, of Edward's eyes. She didn't know what to make of what she saw in them, but whatever it was, it caused her stomach to tighten. Standing in front of her, looking down, Edward appeared the perfect vision of calm determination. His lips set in a firm line. His scruffy jaw tight. His fingers squeezing hers.

His eyes held the answers to all the questions that Isabella so wished she could ask him.

"I'll see you soon, Isabella," he whispered before gently placing his mouth on hers.

With just the smallest amount of suction to her bottom lip and the perfect amount of moisture, Isabella didn't think she could remember a sweeter kiss.

But Edward was out the door before she could reply.

MA~TWIW~MA

Whenever Isabella's time of the month came, Dr. Cullen knew. He made sure that she had no appointments booked for those six days and even usually gave her a few days off just before the event as well.

It was something Isabella was both embarrassed about and appreciated greatly.

So on a particularly warm July day only two days after her time with Edward, when Isabella picked up the phone amidst a bout of cramps, she was slightly confused.

Dr. Cullen hadn't forgotten, had he?

Unless the person on the phone was…

"_Isabella_,"

Her eyes closed.

"Y-yes, Dr. Cullen?"

"_I've booked you a flight to Victoria in one day's time where you will stay until next Sunday for your return flight. You are staying in the Wingate Hotel. A car will pick you up and take you there_."

Her heart immediately leapt up into her throat.

It took a few quick gulps to settle the emotions back down before Isabella could reply.

"Dr. Cullen... Thank you. So much. I can't even-"

"_Don't mention it, Bella_."

His voice was suddenly much softer than usual, and a part of Isabella felt like perhaps this thoughtfulness and care that was apparent in his words and actions was something he had always managed to keep at bay with his brusque, short conversations.

And then there was his use of "Bella"; not "Isabella".

Could it be that he legitimately cared about her after tending to her and her struggles for the past two years? Because this overwhelming act of kindness…

Isabella hadn't thought she would make it to Victoria until Thanksgiving at least. She had been saving every extra penny for the trip; skimping on groceries just to have those few extra dollars.

And now Dr. Cullen had taken care of it for her.

After mumbling a quick goodbye and hanging up the phone, Isabella let her emotions finally spill over.

Because there was simply too much.

First.

How Edward Masen had treated her.

With respect. With genuine affection.

It was so different, so foreign, from how she was treated by every other male she saw.

The ones who used her. Who used her body like they did bottles of pills. Sure, they didn't do anything to really harm her. Some even treated her quite courteously. But they all knew what they were really there for.

Second.

Dr. Cullen.

The man was still a mystery to her.

He had her in the most vulnerable way; she was completely and utterly dependent on him. Yet, he never took advantage of her. He always thought of her safety and wellbeing before anything else. Even if it led to his own business suffering.

Being that Isabella had only relied on herself since the age of sixteen, it was foreign to her to receive such comfort.

And third.

Her father.

Whom she would be seeing in only two days.

Tears spilled onto Isabella's cheeks.

And before she knew it, she was outright sobbing. Great, heaving breaths. Nose pressed into her pillow. Loud, guttural noises escaping from her throat. Her body curled into a tight ball.

It was the release of months of tension. Of stress. Of hideous guilt and self-hate.

All because of this one, courteous act by her pimp.

And there was nothing she could do to hide it when her phone rang…_again_.

"H-hello?" Her voice cracked.

"_Isabella? What's wrong?"_

Edward's concern couldn't be more apparent if he was standing right next to her.

"Nothing. I-I'm fine…" She stuttered, completely contradicting her words.

"_You are not, Isabella._ What is wrong?"

She gulped at the serious, no-nonsense tone.

And a part of her really did want to tell him. She needed to tell someone; anyone.

About the fact that her fifty year old father might not recognize her when she sees him for the first time in several months. That the once strong, noble chief of police who loved to hunt and fish now only went outdoors for scheduled periods of time. That his joy of eating a burger from The Lodge or fish fry in their tiny, yellow kitchen was forgotten.

He now had to settle for three balanced meals served to him each day.

And she couldn't even really ask him if that was okay.

Because it was already forgotten.

But as much as Isabella would love to unload everything onto Edward, the man who she had felt instantly comfortable with, safe with even, she knew. She knew she couldn't.

Edward was a client.

And they both knew what he really wanted from her. In the end.

And that definitely wasn't her life story.

"I'm fine, really, Edward. Just watching a sad movie, is all."

"_Okay_…" Uncertainty dripped from his tone, "_Well, can I see you? Maybe we can_ –"

"I'm out of town for the next week," she cut him off.

He sighed over the phone, and she could almost feel the warm breathe that would've escaped through his mouth.

And instantly, Isabella knew that she would miss him.

"_Well, when you want to see me, or just talk even, give me a call. Okay_?"

"Okay."

The promise wasn't to him.

It was to herself.

* * *

**A/N: Let me know what you think. I love to hear from you!**


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